


I'd Rather be a Kite

by fullyloadedpoet



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 18:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16392665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullyloadedpoet/pseuds/fullyloadedpoet
Summary: Young Franky Doyle responds to the age old question, "What would you like to be when you grow up?".





	I'd Rather be a Kite

**Author's Note:**

> tw: mentions/hints at child abuse
> 
>  
> 
> This work is completed.

When Franky was all of ten years old her teacher assigned the class a writing prompt, “What would you like to be when you grow up?” Franky rolled her eyes as soon as the bright eyed teacher spoke the words out loud. Even so young, she was already fire and ice all wrapped in one. She was mature for her age, the same teacher had commented on her report cards. What she saw as a compliment could only be attested to the constant turmoil at home. Franky’s scoff was interrupted prematurely by her teacher kneeling beside her desk. Franky held her breath, fearing the punishment that was no doubt awaiting her.

  
“I know it’s a silly question, but try to have fun with it, okay Francesca?” the blonde teacher smiled softly as she delivered a quick pat of her hand to Franky’s bony shoulder. She was the tallest girl in her class, but she was by far the skinniest as well. The young girl never quite knew how to react to signs of affection like the one she had just received. Most of the time her face would turn red and she would clam up instantly. This time she nodded quickly and turned her glance back down to her blank sheet of paper.

  
Even if the prompt was stupid, Franky did look forward to writing time in class. She loved the way the calm stillness washed over the room as her classmates were finally silenced. She hated the constant rumble of noise that came with the crowd of kids. She had no idea how her teacher managed to get anything done with so much racket all the time. Being quiet was not a trait that she was born with, but instead it was one she had learned over time just like one of Pavlov’s dogs. But there was no metronome to teach her, only smacks and slaps from hands.  
Without the herd making endless noise, she could finally focus on the task at hand. At first it was difficult to let herself break past the surface and let go. She discovered early on that she loved writing. Writing gave to her what her voice could not. Writing gave her freedom to escape her story and create another. Within a few minutes, she was scratching pencil to paper steadily as her teacher walked the room observing silently. The steady rhythm of her footsteps helped Franky to regulate her breathing. She felt almost hypnotized by the notebook in front of her as she slipped beneath the surface of the water and dove down deep to what was hidden below.

  
When she finally came up for air, Franky wasn’t sure how much time had lapsed as she blinked the world back into focus. The rest of the class had disappeared out the door for afternoon recess until it was only her and Mrs. Hanson left in the room.

“I see you found something to write about?” The blonde teacher smiled as she nodded towards the sheets of paper lined in Franky’s messy script. The young girl nodded as she set down her dulled pencil on her desk. “You seem a little off today, Francesca. Is everything alright?” the teacher asked cautiously as she noticed the tinge of darkness under the brunette’s eyes.

“Yes, Mrs. Hanson,” she nodded with an even tone. “Can I go outside now?” Franky asked noticing as the other children had gathered on the playground just beyond the windows. Mrs. Hanson nodded and escorted her outside to play with the other children. Before she made her way back to her desk, curiosity struck her and she retrieved the red journal from the little girl’s desk. Her eyes scanned the sheet of paper to see a kite drawn in the bottom right corner of the page below the words.

_When I grow up I would like to be a kite. I would be bright red with bright red ribbons so everyone from far away could see how beautiful I looked in the blue sky. If I were a kite I could fly far far away and no string could hold me down. I’d fly all over the world without anyone to stop me and pull me back down. Not even her. If I were a kite I could search from up high to see the streets below. I would search high and low to find where he was hiding. I’d find my dad and let him reel me back into his arms again. If I were a kite I wouldn’t have to hear her yell or smell the cigarettes on her breath. If I were a kite she wouldn’t be able to hurt me anymore because I’d fly right out of this place just out of her reach. I guess when I say that I want to be a kite what I really mean is that I want to be free._

Mrs. Hanson sighed, setting the journal down on her desk. She allowed her fingertips to rest against her lips as she thought with her eyes closed. After taking a deep breath, she picked up her phone and made the call she'd been dreading. She knew it was time to set the little kite free.


End file.
